


Rattlebone

by Tortellini



Category: The Turn of the Screw - Henry James, The Turning (2020)
Genre: 1990s, Analysis, Canon Compliant, Character Analysis, Childhood Trauma, Fear, Gen, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Second Person, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Spoilers, Trauma, Wordcount: 100-500, movie compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tortellini/pseuds/Tortellini
Summary: "You know what room this is. The wind is knocked out of you like a punch to the gut. "Oneshot/drabble
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17





	Rattlebone

The rain is coming down hard now, much harder than you expected it to be--it's a miracle that Flora herself doesn't wake up and come to see what these loud noises are. It makes you smile though. She's still afraid of silly things like thunder in the middle of the night. Your long ragged curls stick to your face and it's almost hard to see, but you manage. The window's open. It's not until you haul yourself through the window, being as quiet as possible and yet still spectacularly failing--does it make you stop.

You know what room this is. The wind is knocked out of you like a punch to the gut. 

There are footsteps though, and you walk quickly, because you're not supposed to be home yet much less in this part of the house. And good riddance. You'd rather be with Flora and her dolls, her gap-toothed grin--or in your own room, with your guitar, the strings being plucked gently. 

The door opens and...well. It's the new nanny, you assume. She looks a little like Miss Jessel and that makes your stomach clench uncomfortably. Her hair is blonde but dyed and shorter with pin-straight bangs. 

She doesn't see you at first and the door rattles, the window whistles. She jumps when she turns around. 

"Who are you?" 

You blink. Your shoulders stiffen a little. "I'm Miles. I live here."

The nanny looks flustered. "I mean--what are you doing home?"

You don't want to think of that. You don't want to think of being here, in this room either--of Flora refusing to walk down the hall, her eyes wide, or the way it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up being so close to this fucking bed. She shouldn't be here. 

Or else it might happen to her. 

"You shouldn't be here," you say instead, and it comes out colder than you mean it to. But the point gets across, right?

She knows you just want to look out for her right now. Right?


End file.
